The winter and spring passed calmly by.

I had much ill-health, and could go out very little; but they came constantly to me, John and Ursula, especially the latter.

During this illness, when I learned to watch longingly for her kind face, and listen for her cheerful voice talking pleasantly and sisterly beside my chair, she taught me to give up "Mrs.Halifax," and call her Ursula.

It was only by slow degrees I did so, truly; for she was not one of those gentle creatures whom, married or single, one calls instinctively by their Christian names.
Her manner in girlhood was not exactly either "meek" or "gentle"; except towards him, the only one who ever ruled her, and to whom she was, through life, the meekest and tenderest of women.

To every one else she comported herself, at least in youth, with a dignity and decision--a certain stand-offishness--so that, as I said, it was not quite easy to speak to or think of her as "Ursula." Afterwards, when seen in the light of a new character, for which Heaven destined and especially fitted her, and in which she appeared altogether beautiful--I began to give her another name--but it will come by and by.
In the long midsummer days, when our house was very quiet and rather dreary, I got into the habit of creeping over to John's home, and sitting for hours under the apple-trees in his garden.